Christmas with the Kents
by Fenrir Greyback
Summary: With things as tense as ever in the Luthor family home, a young Lex is sent off by his father to spend the holidays with another family...


A/N: Woo. My first Smallville fic! And it's about our favorite dysfunctional family, the Luthors! Please…try not to flame me. This really is my first attempt and I tried my hardest to keep them in character. Helped along by the fact that this takes place after the two deaths in the family, where emotions are running high and Lex's sanity has seen better days, I think I did a passable job. I hope. Review…please. I'd love to hear what you think. Just no 'this sucks' reviews from Mr. Anonymous s all I ask.

Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville nor am I making any profit off of this. This story is a source of entertainment, something to break the monotony while I'm sick. Now here it is.

After the death of his wife Lillian, the days slipped by for Lionel, like water through cupped hands. One minute he was in the dining room, sitting down to dinner with Lex, a crushing silence filling the air. The next he was at a meeting, at a function, half way across the world with no intention of coming back, no intention at all...not until he remembered Lex...Lex...who the doctors said was suffering deeply. Lex, who needed Something…but did he deserve it…did he really?

It was midnight when he returned. Sometime in December. Snow flakes dotted his mane of dark hair. Gave the impression of a man shifting into the salt and pepper phase of life. He stared into the mirror. Stared at the lines. How they'd multiplied. And then he lifted his hands. They shook, from the cold. The cold and perhaps that last glass of Scotch. He fumbled with the buttons of his jacket – wondering, vaguely, where the boy was asleep – or awake...at last he mastered the clasps, freeing himself from the stifling heat of his coat, placing it where it belonged on the coat rack.

"Lex," he called, and his voice at least was as he remembered it: strong and commanding without the threat of a tremor, or hint of age.

There was no reply. _Asleep then_, he thought. _Or else out of earshot_. He took the nearest staircase. Climbed it in unhurried steps. He would find him, eventually, because he was surely somewhere there, in the house. Lex...he wouldn't leave. Because he was needing Something, like the doctors said; Something only he, the father, could administer properly. He climbed higher and higher, calling Lex's name as he ascended, until the name became little more than a chant, ringing senselessly through the air with nowhere to go, nothing to do but be absorbed by the walls.

--

Lex sat bolt upright, driven from sleep by…

"Lex,"

His father's voice. Close. Throwing aside the covers, he had to struggle to free himself from a fierce tangle of sheets.

"Lex,"

Gasping, practically sobbing, he succeeded after the second tug. Launching himself from the bed he landed hard on the floor beside it. Just in time. Just in time, because...

"Lex,"

He was there, in the room. Lex was scared, so scared, without an idea why. It was just...

"Lex, are you in here?"

_Instinctive_.

Like a snake, he slithered along the floor on his front, looking past the chill of the floor; his pajama top had hitched up, forcing his belly to slide along it. He clung to that feeling. It woke him up. And he needed to be awake. Because something told him he would need to use his head in a minute. Maybe even in a second. He could see his father's polished shoes on the other side of the bed, lit up by light coming in from the hall.

--

His eyes slid over the blankets – pulled back. Over the sheets – crumpled up. His lips twitched.

"Are you _hiding_ from me?"

Lionel moved forward, picked up a pillow, pitched it across the room.

"Lex, I'm not in in the mood for games, son. Come out."

"Come out."

Suddenly, the good feeling that came with doing something that felt totally right, _instinctive_...it trickled away, leaving Lex feeling incredibly stupid.

What did he expect? Safety provided by the underside of the boxspring?

He would have laughed out loud if he wasn't still afraid of being discovered.

But that was unavoidable wasn't it? All evidence pointed to him being in the room. …If he stayed like he was…his father would find him anyway.

He didn't want to be found like this.

But it was so hard to move. It felt like several hundred pounds had fallen squarely on his shoulders…and he couldn't breathe…

"Here..." he whispered.

--

"Ah. There you are. It's good to see you've finally decided to join me...in spite of your liaison with the floor." Lionel said, smiling in a way that made the corners of his mouth crinkle. His eyes swept over the form of his son, who had come from his hiding place like a dog called by its master.

His hollow cheeks were burning bright. With what? Anger? Shame? Anticipation? "I fell out of bed. In my sleep." he said.

"Yes, and I'm sure you woke quickly. What kept you from answering after the first two seconds?"

Lex opened his mouth. Closed it.

"I see." Lionel nodded. "Never mind...it doesn't matter. I wanted to talk to you, son. It's been so long since we last talked wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah." the response was hopelessly automatic.

Lionel watched his son flounder for something better, but what was left that could be said? He put a hand on the boy's shoulder, and blinked, surprised. His action had elicited a flinch. God only knew why. He frowned. Withdrew the hand. It went to his pants pocket, where it stayed – for the moment. "Well, come with me." he said.

Lex didn't want to. Glancing back at the king sized bed, he envisioned returning to the safe warmth only a bundle of blankets…or the hug of a mother…could provide. But mothers, he was running short on those, wasn't he? The younger Luthor scowled, falling into step behind the older. He didn't know what to expect. Fear raced through him, increasing the need to breathe, and he still didn't know what to expect. Did Dad really only want to talk? He wanted to believe that was all, but his brain wouldn't let him be that stupid.

Ignorance was bliss…unfortunately, he wasn't ignorant anymore.

Lex Luthor was waking up to the ways of the world.

He wished he wasn't, but he was.

They moved as silently as specters through the halls, Lionel pausing to turn on lights as he went. "No need to feel around in the dark." he would chuckle, to earn a short nod from the child. Lex, for his part, had never looked so deathly serious. Not that Lionel could recall. That little face was looking positively skull-like. Lionel smiled. "We're almost there." he assured him.

"I know." Lex said. Not a lie. They were getting closer to the East Wing. Closer to the office. There would only be a desk to seperate him from his father once inside. Bunching up his pajama top, he rubbed his sweat slick palms against the material, breathing deliberately slowly. He felt like he was about to have another attack…but he hadn't had one of those in years. "Hey, Dad."

"Yes?"

"What is it you want talk about?" he asked, eyes straying to stone bust of Alexander the Great. It stood just feet from his father's office. _They _stood just feet from his father's office.

Lionel had raised his eyebrows. "We'll talk about it once we've settled down." he replied.

"I'm tired…"

"And this is important. Chin up, Lex. It will only take a minute. Then you can go back to bed and sleep for as long as you could possibly want."

"Okay."

They had reached the office door. It was ornately carved, a massive tree seeming to spring right out from the wood. Lex watched his father pull a key from his pants pocket and insert it in the lock. There was a moment of silence in which he prayed it would be jammed, then a click. The door opened smoothly on oiled hinges.

Lionel looked back. Chuckled. "You look like a prisoner walking his last, Lex. Smile." he suggested. When the boy threw him a blank look, he sighed. "All right, be difficult. After you."

Lex stepped over the threshold, his bare feet sinking instantly into the warmth of a thick carpet. He relaxed a little, his jaw softening from its stiff clench. He was thinking if his father really wanted to hurt or kill him, he would have done it by then, and dear lord, when did he start thinking like that? His eyes itched, making him blink. It wasn't like he was going to cry…he was just so…frustrated. Frustrated and tired and scared. "What do you want to talk about?" he asked.

"I imagined saying this to your face, not your back, son…but…I'll take it. What I want to talk to you about is Genesis 4:1-16."

"That's…the bible." Lex said, suspicious.

"Yes. Genesis 4:1-16. Do you know what is said there?"

He shook his head.

Lionel smiled. "Let me give you a hint, then, son. In the beginning there was Ada and Eve…"

"Dad, please."

"…and they gave birth to…"

"They aren't real." He interrupted, wiping a hand over his face. "They weren't _real_."

"That may be true, Lex. However you _are_. And so was he."

Lex was breathing hard. He couldn't help it anymore. Lifting his hands, he pressed them down on his ears, trying to block out…

"Julian was real."

…those next words.

"Dad, please, please – "

"He was as real as you are now. Do you remember how he cried? Constantly."

"I hated it when he cried."

"Yes." Lionel conceded.

"He wouldn't shut up."

"And now we're alone. You and I. How does it feel, son? To be alone and know you're responsible."

Lex rubbed his face again, only to pull his fingers back, confused. They were wet. Wildly, he pictured them dipped in blood and soaking, but no, this liquid was clear. "It hurts." He gasped. Not blood. Tears.

"I suppose it should. Now turn around, Lex. I want to see your face." Lionel said softly. "I want to see the miserable face of the boy responsible – not _just_ for his brother's death – but for his mother's as well."

"I'm sorry."

No longer able to control himself, he threw a hand out, grabbed his son's arm in a grip like iron, and wrenched hi around. The boy's head snapped to the side, limp and lifeless like a doll's. And what he saw when it lolled toward him were the eyes of a frightened animal, shining with tears of false remorse. "Aww…" He lifted a hand, brushing his fingertip along one of the tear tracks. "Lex. There's no need to try so hard. Not for my sake."

Julian…he was crying. Lex could hear him. Hush, little baby, don't say a word…momma's gonna buy you a mocking bird…except momma wouldn't…would she…would she….he gripped the sides of his face, hard enough that his fingernails sank in to his cheeks, leaving pale half moons in their wake. Momma wasn't going to give him a mocking bird. "Do you hear him?" he hissed.

"Lex," Lionel growled, watching him closely. The boy had the wide eyed gaze of someone on drugs and he was no longer registering anything but the door over his father's shoulder and, presumably, the cries of the dead baby he imagined lay beyond it. "Lex, stay with me. Julian is dead. You killed him."

"No, listen! Hear him?" Lex's mouth twisted into something like a smile. Fear forgotten, he stumbled past the man and bolted open the door. It had been locked. Lionel had locked it. Why…to keep him in…to kill him? It didn't matter anymore. He ran through the halls, pulled by the invisible string that was his little brother's wail. He could hear it, clear as anything! Why did Dad pretend not to? Never mind, never mind. Hands shaking, he pulled open a door, stepping into the bedroom that was no longer a bedroom. It had been cold and empty the last time he dared to look in, but now miraculously it was warm and there – there was the crib, and in it… "Julian." He smiled.

Lionel was not smiling. Arms folded over his chest, he watched Lex walk into the middle of the room, hold his arms out, and 'lift' the baby into his arms. A vein throbbed in his temple. "Julian's not here, Lex. It's only…" he grabbed Lex by the shoulder, forcing him around. "It's only us." He then made a decision. It took only a split second. After all, the outcome, he knew, would feel so very good. Holding Lex's shoulder, he raised his hand…

Lex's eyes followed that hand.

He raised his hand and lowered it again. "Really," Would it feel good to hit his son? Was that the Something the doctors had hinted at? Physical punishment, forced atonement for a sin…he closed his eyes. Nothing…nothing would wash Lex clean of his brother's and mother's blood. "If I hit you now…I would keep hitting," he said, opening his eyes to stare into the paler than normal face of his son. "I would keep hitting…and hitting…but it would be useless, Lex. Nothing would change."

"Kill me then."

It was almost scary how fast, how easily the boy was able to propose it.

"Nothing would change. I believe in an eye for an eye, Lex. And…you'll forgive me for thinking, death would only be an escape for you….the loser's way out." he mused. "You're a Luthor…a winner. So do me a favor, son." He grabbed him by both shoulders, pulling him in so that their faces were inches apart. "Stop trying to take the loser's way out, because I will not kill you."

It was a thing easily said, but looking into the face, into the eyes that were just begging for death, could he stand by it? His resolution was strong, yes…but not as iron. He pushed Lex from him. "Pack your things," he instructed. "Come sunrise you will be visiting the Kent's." Martha Kent…who looked so much like Lillian…yes, that would be enough. Running a hand back through his hair, he left the room, leaving Lex to stand in the dark.


End file.
